Charity Case
by Dear Marley
Summary: Angela is too stubborn to accept a gift. When she moves to Waffle Island, will her stubborn match Chase warm up to her or will her best friend Gill soften her heart? Marked POV Schizophrenia; Rated T for alcohol reference and mild language.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Prologue:**

"I don't believe I ever got your name." The ship's captain was a gruff man with white, misshapen sideburns straight out of a decade long past. He grabbed a little cloth from his pocket and shined the outside of his pipe, not bothering to look at me as he spoke. "Mine's Pascal," he said, taking a puff from the pipe and sending tufts of noxious smoke in my direction.

I paused for a minute, turning my face away from the wind and letting the salty sea air whip my short, brown hair into my face. The air felt moist and unclean, and it reminded me of my childhood.

Meridian Heights Orphanage was never sanitary. The ever-present musky smell wasn't remedied by the leaky plumbing and the cobwebs that ornamented the corners of every room. I spent most of my time there sneaking out, leaving to go to the park or the library, any place where I could get away. The entire town knew me by name. They would always say hello as I walked by. Sometimes they'd offer me sandwiches, water, a place to stay for the day. I always hated being treated as a charity case.

When I was finally eighteen, I snuck out for good. The last of my money went toward a boat ticket to some funny little island I'd never even heard of. The important part was, it was far away from what I'd called home.

"Angela," I answered. "My name's Angela."

"Well, Angela," Pascal said, his raspy smoker's voice carrying out to sea, "Welcome to Waffle Island."

**Chapter 1:**

_Intro - POV: Angela_

I was greeted first by a portly old man with grey hair growing in formations that could not be possible without buckets of styling products. "Welcome to our fair island!" he triumphantly declared, attempting to be the island's poster boy as he once may have been. "My name's Hamilton, and I'm the mayor of Waffle Town!"

"It's nice to meet you," I said. "My name's Angela."

"Angela? Alright! If there's anything you need, you can ask me!"

"Where can I find the Town Hall?" I asked.

"Well, it's the one big building you find up those stairs to your right!" He pointed to indicate the direction of the stairs, as if I didn't know which way was right.

"Thank you, sir," I said, bowing and taking off. I didn't want to chit-chat; I wanted to move in.

_Chapter 1a - POV: Angela_

The town hall was a clean and deserted place, staffed only by a short-haired girl in a long blue dress and a domestic-looking apron, and a sweater-vested boy in plaid bermuda shorts and dress socks with hair that made his head look like the moon. "I'm Gill, and this is Elli," the boy introduced. "Would you like a gisitor's vide to the island-- I mean, a visitor's guide?"

"Actually, I'd like to inquire about moving in." I said nervously. "Are there any houses available?"

Gill's face lit up like a child who'd seen candy falling from the sky. "Oh! The housing district's practically deserted! Follow me, I'll show you some houses... that is, if you have any money."

My heart sank as I reached into my pocket. I'd forgotten I was completely broke. Would they send me back if I couldn't pay for a house? "I have... 27G... a rusted paperclip... and this bit of pink string."

Gill's brow furrowed as he tilted his head, staring contemplatively at the contents of my pockets. "Well, that won't buy you a weed flower." he said, his voice tasting of condescension. "You really came all the way out here without any money at all?"

"I apologize for wasting your time," I quickly spat out, spinning a quick one-eighty and heading toward the door.

"Hold on!" Gill shouted as my hand touched the doorknob, leaving his post behind the town hall counter. "You can't live in the housing district. But there's a little plot of farmland by the river with a shack you can live in."

"I don't want your charity!" I snapped. "I'm perfectly capable of living my own life!" I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. Even in other towns, people didn't think I could survive alone. I felt like I was worthless, like I didn't deserve to be alive, much less take a free house from people I'd met five minutes ago. A tear spilled from my eye as I ran from the town hall.

"Hey!" Gill's voice called from behind me. I ran faster. He couldn't possibly run very quickly in dress shoes. "I never got your name!"

"It's Angela!" I shouted through tears.

The sound of his dress shoes pounding across the square stopped. "You can pay rent, if you really want," he said.

I stopped. "Really?"

"2000G a month. We can send you eviction notices if you don't pay on time and everything!" he joked.

I turned around and walked back to where he stood. "I... uh, thanks... Gill."

He stuck out his hand. "We have a deal, then?"

"Sure," I said, shaking his hand. Gill started walking toward the stairs to the square. "Hey, where are you going?" I asked.

"To your land," he said. "Are you coming or not?"

_Chapter 1b - POV: Gill_

Another day working at Town Hall meant another day standing poised at the counter, staring at the front wall, with no one to talk to but my coworker, Elli. Today, she was on a cake rant. I knew I wouldn't hear the end of rolled fondant, piping techniques, and how to get _juuuust_ the right amount of sweetness in strawberry topping until I interrupted her. But I was too polite. And no one would come by to stop her.

I was beginning to fall into a slump when the front door creaked open. In the doorway stood a visitor, a classically down-to-earth-looking girl with a certain smile in her eye that told she was actually pleased to be here. Who would be pleased to be in Waffle Town in its current state, I had no idea, but I wasn't about to let her think we were rude. It's only good practice, after all, to introduce oneself, right? "I'm Gill," I said. "And this is Elli. Would you like a gisitor's vide to the island-- I mean, a visitor's guide?" Stupid, stupid Gill. Think while you're speaking.

"Actually, I'd like to inquire about moving in. Are there any houses available?" Her voice was like fine summer sand slipping through dry fingers. Sly, but warm, and leaving an odd feeling on the ears. I could listen to it for hours.

She looked at me expectantly, her angular brown eyes open with anticipation. What had she said? Housing! "Oh! The housing district's practically deserted! Follow me, I'll show you some houses... that is, if you have any money."

Her excited face immediately fell as she reached down into her pockets. She started laying out the contents on the counter in front of me. "I have... 27G... a rusted paperclip... and this bit of pink string," she said.

And that was it. That was all she had. How could such a girl, so pretty and well-mannered, forget that money was the basis of civilized life? "That won't even buy you a weed flower," I said, disappointed. "You... really came all the way out here without any money at all?"

"I apologize for wasting your time!" she spouted, bowing and running away.

"Hold on!" I shouted as her hand graced the knob. I couldn't let her get away from me. "You can't live in the housing district, but there's a little plot of farmland by the river with a shack you can live in," I said. There was; it was an extremely disappointing little bit of land, but I'd do whatever I could to keep her around. My father would have to live with losing the little plot.

"I don't want your charity!" she shouted. "I'm perfectly capable of living my own life!" She slammed the door behind her as she left. Her face as she shouted at me will never leave my mind. She seemed so angry. I wondered what I could have possibly said or done to set her off. All I did was offer her a place to live. I took off running from my post. "I'll be back later!" I told Elli as I ran out the door.

"Hey!" I yelled at the girl, attempting to stop her. Hey? What kind of barn was I raised in? She has a name! But I'd never learned it. "I never got your name!"

"It's Angela!" she called back, her usually smooth voice shattered by tears.

Angela. Like Angel, but one step further. The poetry of it stopped me dead in my tracks. I was losing her. "You know, you can pay rent if you really want!" I said, fearing my last attempt had been drowned out by her running footsteps.

She stopped. "Really?"

"2000G a month," I said. "We can send you eviction notices if you don't pay on time and everything!"

Angela turned around and walked back toward me. It had worked. "I... uh, thanks... Gill."

I smiled and offered my right hand. "We have a deal, then?"

She put her gloved hand in mine. It felt warm, and it was slightly damp from wiping her own tears. "Deal," she said with a quick shake.

I smiled, and headed toward the steps to show her to her new home. "Hey, where are you going?" she asked.

Silly girl. "To your land. Are you coming or not?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Intro - POV: Gill_

She moved into the little shack by the river. She made it her own. Cozy, with a few seasonal crops growing in the field and cows, sheep, and chickens in the pasture. Two of each. She liked everything even.

I came by sometimes, and I watched her farm grow from a little run-down field to a flourishing subsistence farm. It was her pride and joy.

And I watched the island grow. My pride and joy. People that had left the island started moving back. Maple Lake was even getting a little crowded. On my days off, I'd stroll through the town and admire its beauty, its flourish, its newfound vigor. Waffle Island meant everything to me... well, everything that Angela didn't, which was diminishing every day. Hard as I tried, I could not keep my spirits down.

_Chapter 2a - POV: Angela_

It seemed like no time at all until the temperature started to rise and before I knew it, we were in the dead middle of the summer. I grabbed a bandana and tied it around my head in an attempt to keep my hair off my neck and headed off to visit Gill at the Town Hall.

As I entered the town hall, I saw an unfamiliar face. He measured in a bit taller than I was without his salmon-colored hair that could use a serious combing instead of being pinned above his ear out of his face, and he wore a blue chef's apron over a white collared shirt. He wore a calm, yet somehow empty expression as he turned to me and said, "I don't think we've met before. I'm Chase."

I stood staring for a moment. When I was little, I visited the library all the time. I read hundreds upon hundreds of stories about princesses finding their soulmates and living happily ever after. I always said it was cheesy, but I secretly wished I could be so lucky. And at that moment, I felt I was.

"Angela~!" Gill sang, waking me from my trance. "Are you going to introduce yourself, or just stand there gawking?"

"Oh! I'm Angela!" I said, fearing I'd been a bit too enthusiastic.

"Angela... hm. Well, I work as a cook at the bar. Stop by, if you like." Without another word, he quietly closed the door behind him.

"Wow, Angela," Gill started. "'Subtle' is a word you might want to add to your vocabulary." He kept talking, but I wasn't listening. I just kept staring at the door.

When I was younger, I never really had any crushes. Other girls at the orphanage would; they would start going on and on about this one guy, and how great he was, how attractive, nice, funny, and all-around wonderful he was. Then, when I saw them, they were just average people. No more attractive, no nicer, no funnier, no more wonderful than any other guy I knew. I had to wonder if that was happening to me. "Who was that?" I asked Gill, not moving from my trancelike fixation on the door Chase had just walked through.

"That's Chase," he said, his voice dripping with contempt disguised as neutrality. "He's Yolanda's apprentice. He used to live here, but he left for a while to study cooking. And he never talks about _anything_ but cooking, cooking, and more cooking."

"Wow..." I said, still in my trance. "Uh, I'm going to go... feed my sheep!" I spouted, bolting out the door. My sheep were outside in the pasture. I was going to find some way to talk to him. I was determined.

_Chapter 2b - POV: Chase_

The Waffle Town Hall was all too familiar. The same dark brown desk, the same repetitive music playing over the loudspeaker, the same Gill in his same goofy plaid bermuda shorts and argyle sweater vest. I took in the air, which had the same scent of vanilla and brown sugar scented air freshener. "Ahhh. This town hasn't changed a bit, has it, Gill?"

"Well... we've got a couple of new folks," he said.

"New people? Who?" I asked. Waffle Town had had the same residential families since I first moved here. I was the new guy forever, it seemed.

"Well... a new person. Just one." Gill kept glancing at the door behind me.

"Well, who is he? What's his name, what's he like?"

"It's a she, Chase. Her name is Angela. She's proud, strong, and self-sufficient... yet kind and warm. She's the kind of person you--"

"Okay, okay, sheesh. I didn't ask for her life story, 'kay? Quit gushing, you sound like a schoolgirl."

"Alright, alright." He continued to stare dejectedly at the door.

"You expecting someone there, Gill?" I asked.

The door opened, and through came a girl I'd never seen before. She was thin, almost scrawny, even, with a green dress covering her small arms to the elbow. A faded blue bandana was tied around her head to keep her short hair off of her neck. Her face was pretty, with an almost mischievous, yet friendly look in her eyes. She looked genuinely happy. Part of me was jealous. Another part was off in a fantasy; another part called that part a fool. But as always, Storefront Chase was the one to speak up. "I don't think we've met before," I said. "I'm Chase."

She stood silently for a moment, looking as if she'd just been smacked in the face with a waffle iron. "Angela~! Are you going to introduce yourself, or just stand there gawking?" Gill stood at his post, waving and attempting to shake the girl.

"Oh! I'm Angela!" she finally managed to spit out, cringing immediately afterward. So this was the Angela that Gill was crazy over. And I could see why. She seemed to be a kind person, though a little naive. I found my mind reflexively trying to find something wrong with her, some glaring flaw that I couldn't see, and I couldn't come up with one. Something was different with her.

"Angela, hm? Well, I'm a cook down at the bar. Stop by, if you like," I said on my way out, closing the door behind me.

I looked at the town from the square. This time, the whole town was different.


	3. Chapter 3

_Intro - POV: Chase_

"Oh, my goodness, it's Chase! We haven't seen you here in ages!" Yolanda was almost like a grandmother to me. Before I'd left to study, she'd practically raised me in her kitchen. And as it turned out, fancy foreign cooking knowledge just didn't compare with Yolanda's kitchen know-how.

"Good evening, Yolanda," I said, bowing to be polite.

"It's so good to see you back! Now get your fancy barrettes."

"...What?"

"Your shift starts in an hour." I stood frozen, head cocked to the side, as she turned and headed up the stairs. She made one quick head-swivel back to me. "What? You didn't think you were going to get off easy because you've just moved in, did you?"

I let out a small chuckle. That's Yolanda. Always... Yolanda.

_Chapter 3a - POV: Angela_

I tentatively reached toward the handle to the bar. Here I was, wearing my pretty yellow dress that I'd bought at the flea market and smelling like the lily flower I'd tucked behind my ear. Truth was, I'd never been to a bar. It brought up images of drunken men and scantily-clad women, raging rumbles and passed-out cowboys, their hats askew to reveal their half-dead faces. It scared the hell out of me. But this was no way to act; it was the only way to see Chase. "That's IT!" I said to myself, ripping the lily from my head and squashing it into the ground with the sole of my boot. I threw open the doors to the bar (surprisingly lightweight, as they were).

Immediately, I'd drawn attention to myself. I shrunk in my place. The bar was hardly anything more than a late-night restaurant; a few people sat at tables eating, some of them with colorful drinks in triangular glasses. Nothing special. With all eyes on me and my big fat entrance, I slowly crept over to the bar and took a seat.

Chase was cooking in the kitchen directly across. I did my best to look attractive, leaning my elbow on the bar and twirling my hair in my finger. "Hey, Chase," I said in my sexiest voice. It turns out, I don't get very sexy.

He turned his head. "Oh, Angela," he said nonchalantly, flipping sliced peppers with his frying pan. "You startled me."

"You... didn't notice my entrance? I thought I was pretty... ostentatious."

"Nope. I get wrapped up in my cooking. What do you want?"

"Gee... you're awfully business-like. I just wanted to chat. Is that so bad?"

"Oh... I'm cooking."

"What, you can't cook and talk at the same time?"

"I'd prefer not to. It gets distracting and I can't concentrate, and I end up with something about as easy to stomach as that flowery perfume you're wearing."

I was more than a bit taken aback by that comment, mostly because I wasn't wearing any perfume. The only flowery scent that lingered on me would be from the lily I was wearing before I stormed in. But when I thought about it, I did smell roses... lots of roses... oh, god, the rosy smell was unbearable. "Hi, Chase!" a chipper voice chirped from next to me. "Ooh, who's your friend?"

"Well, she's not really my friend, Maya," Chase asserted, breathing deeply to keep his cool. "Neither are you, particularly."

The girl frowned. "Chase, you're so cold sometimes, you know that? You're just... mean."

"I wouldn't be so mean if you weren't so... look, Maya, can you just leave me alone?"

"Okay, grumpy-guts. Maybe I just want to talk to the new girl, hm?" She turned to me. "Hi! I'm Maya! What's your name?" Maya was all too chipper. Her short orange hair had two braids in the sides and her pink dress culminated in a ridiculous bubble that looked big enough to smuggle cakes in. Coupled with her wide blue eyes, she looked like a little girl, and she smelled like she'd washed her hair with her mother's perfume.

"I'm roses-- I mean, my name's smelly-- er, Angela." Her perfume was leaking into my brain. "And I've lived here for a while now..." Roses, roses, roses. "I moved here at the beginning of Spring, you know." It didn't even smell like roses anymore.

"Oh, really?" Maya asked. Faceplant in a rosebush. "Why haven't I seen you around, then?" Roses up the noses. "'Cause we meet--"

"OH GOODNESS LOOK AT THE TIME I'VE GOT TO GO!" I interrupted, looking at a watch I didn't have and hopping off my barstool.

"But I just got here... And I--"

"YEAH AWFUL NICE CHATTIN' WITH YA WE SHOULD DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME BYE!" I finally reached the door and took in the fresh outdoor air. "Oh, sweet dry summer air, how I've missed you!" I thought aloud.

_Chapter 3b - POV: Chase_

Working at the bar had always been a comforting affair. Just me, the little kitchen, and all the greatest cooking ingredients Waffle Island had to offer.

I was frying peppers for the mayor's traditional late-night omelette when the bar doors crashed open. Angela stood small in the doorway, obviously not realizing that the doors were so light. My insides flipped like the peppers I was frying, but I played it cool until she pulled up a seat at the bar and said hello. "Oh, Angela," I said, hardly looking away from my peppers. "You startled me."

"You... didn't notice my entrance? I thought I was pretty... ostentatious."

Yep, I noticed. I'd have noticed your entrance if you'd slipped in seamlessly through a crack in the floorboards. "Nope. I get wrapped up in my cooking. What do you want?"

"Gee... you're awfully business-like. I just wanted to chat. Is that so bad?"

I'd like nothing more. "Oh... I'm cooking."

"What, you can't cook and talk at the same time?"

I most certainly can. I took a whiff of the fried peppers... at least, I tried to. But I was assaulted by the stench of some kind of rosy perfume. I thought Angela would have better taste. "I'd prefer not to. It gets distracting and I can't concentrate, and I end up with something about as easy to stomach as that flowery perfume you're wearing."

I could feel the comment sting her and instantly wished I'd kept it to myself, until I found the real source of the stench. "Hi, Chase!" Maya's distinctive chirp rang from next to Angela. Maya was Yolanda's granddaughter who'd always had a thing for me. In my previous tenure here, I suppose I'd had a "thing for her," of sorts, but I'd be damned if I'd let her know. "Ooh, who's your friend?" she asked.

Angela? We'd known each other for maybe ten hours. While I'd like to call her a friend, it just wouldn't be like me to do so. I took a deep breath. Lying was difficult sometimes. "She's not really my friend, Maya. And neither are you, particularly."

"Chase, you're so cold sometimes, you know that?" Maya chirped. The swelling symphony that her chirp used to bring to my ears had become a cymbal-crashing cacophony that I dearly hoped didn't make me visibly twitch.

"I wouldn't be so mean if you weren't so..." Obnoxious? Chirpy? Smelly? Certainly smelly. I remembered a time when I'd deliberately hurt Maya's feelings. She was unbearable to be around. As much as I wanted her to leave me alone, I didn't want to cause that scene. "Look, Maya, can you just leave me alone?"

"Okay, grumpy-guts." The nicknames. Always with the childish nicknames. "Maybe I just wanted to talk to the new girl, hm? Hi! I'm Maya! What's your name?" I decided to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"I'm roses-- I mean, my name's smelly-- er, Angela." She sounded cute when she stuttered. "And I've lived here for a while now... I moved here at the beginning of Spring, you know." She sounded as though she was trying not to breathe.

"Oh, really? Why haven't I seen you around, then? 'Cause we meet--"

"OH GOODNESS LOOK AT THE TIME I'VE GOT TO GO!" Angela suddenly shouted, interrupting Maya.

"But I just got here... And I--"

"YEAH AWFUL NICE CHATTIN' WITH YA WE SHOULD DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME BYE!" Her quick footsteps and unpunctuated speech grew quieter until they were cut off by the sound of the bar doors slamming shut.

"Well, now that that's taken care of..." Maya squeaked, "Time to wash of this stinky perfume!" She swiveled and hopped off the barstool, skipping upstairs to her room.


	4. Chapter 4

_Intro - POV: Angela_

I ought to apologize to him, I thought. I guessed I'd set him off. The moonlight reflected off the leaves of the one tree on my farm. An orange tree. A single orange lay on the ground next to it. It seemed to be shining, almost beckoning to me, saying, "I'm your answer. Use me." I picked up the orange and went inside to find a scrap of paper, on which I scrawled, "For Chase - I'm sorry for bothering you." I tied it to the stem of the orange with a bit of pink string I still had in my pocket. I'd give it to him tomorrow.

I lay awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling, reviewing the night's events in my head. What had I done wrong? Who was this Maya person? How would he react to my gift? For hours, my thoughts bounced in my head; I almost got a headache from all the internal racket. My eyes watered and I occasionally sniffled; I must have been crying. I let my own steady sniffles put me to sleep.

_Chapter 4 - POV: Gill_

My closed fist hung poised in front of Angela's door. As many times as I had visited her house, just knocking on her door got my heart racing. I didn't know why; I knew she'd be happy to see me. What was the problem? I closed my eyes, turned my head slightly, and lightly knocked twice.

There was no answer.

I knocked again, this time louder.

There was still no answer.

"Angela!" I yelled. "Are you home?"

And still there was no answer.

I poked my head inside the chicken coop. "Angela?" No one but her two chickens and their two eggs.

I checked the barn. "Hello?" Just the cows and the sheep. No Angela.

I pounded at the door of the house one more time. "Angela! Are you there?!"

Something that sounded like a quiet response came from inside the house. Angela finally answered the door. Her face was pale, her cheeks flushed. Her usually eager posture was replaced by a lifeless slump. "Oh, Gill..." she said, her voice weak and raspy. "Hi."

"Angela! Are you okay?" I knew the answer, why did I ask? She wasn't okay. She must have felt awful.

"I'm fine," she insisted, sneezing into her cupped hands. How unsanitary. Did she pet her animals with those hands? "If you'll excuse me... I've overslept and I... I need to go... feed... my..." Without finishing her sentence, she collapsed forward, falling right into me.

I could feel myself blushing as Angela's fevered, sick body pressed into mine, her... this wasn't the time to get distracted! I attempted to hoist her unconscious body into my arms. She was light, but I was weak. Eventually, I locked her arms into mine and almost dragged her the short distance to her bed. As I attempted futilely to lay her gently onto her bed, she began to twitch. I had just pulled the covers over her when she opened her eyes. "Gill?" she croaked. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came by to visit, and you collapsed... on me," I told her, hoping my awkwardness wasn't showing.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's about 8:30," I said.

"8:30?!" Angela bolted upright. "Oh, no, I'm late! I have to go apologize to..." She fell back on her pillow.

I pressed my hand to her forehead. She was burning up. "No, you don't. You're not going anywhere today."

"But... I have so much... to do," she said. She was sounding weaker and weaker.

I had to admire her persistence. But I could hardly bear to see her in this condition. If she tried to work, she'd only get worse. "No, Angela. I'm going to have to put my foot down here. You don't get out of this bed, understand me?"

"I have to feed Spooky..." she said. "Who's going to feed and brush and milk her?"

"You... don't have any animals named Spooky."

"Yes, I do," she defended. "She's an ostrich. And she makes sounds that sound like... like, 'woooo~' all night. That's why she's called Spooky."

"Angela," I whispered. Pale and sickly and delirious as she was, she was still beautiful. I walked over to her medicine cabinet and looked inside. The cold medicine I gave her was still there. I washed off a spoon she had left sitting in the kitchen and poured some of the thick green syrup as I made my way back to her bed. "Angela, drink this. It's cold medicine, it'll make you feel better."

"What flavor is it?"

"It's green, Angela. Green flavored."

"Oh, green. My favorite," she said with a small, weak smile.

"Then here, open up," I said, pointing the full spoon toward her mouth.

"Here comes the traaaaain," she mumbled. I gently poured the syrup into her mouth. She choked on it a little, but she got it down. "It tastes like rainbows and cow farts," she said. "With a taste of live fish and a tiny hint of shame."

I smiled at her description. Even when she wasn't thinking straight, she'd still make me smile. I stroked her hair and she began to drift off. "I'm not leaving your side today," I tried to comfort her. "Not until you get better."

"But who will milk Spooky?" she half-whispered.

"I'll milk Spooky. I'll do everything for you. You just don't move, okay?"

"Mm-hm," she said, finally falling asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Intro - POV: Gill_

It then dawned on me that I had just promised to be in two places at once. And I didn't know the first thing about farming. What had I gotten myself into?

I started rummaging around her house in search of her tools of the trade. A watering can, certainly, and probably an animal brush... I would need food, right? An orange lay on her counter. Would she mind if I took it? I picked it up. There was a little scrap of paper attached that read, "For Chase - I'm sorry for bothering you." When had she bothered Chase? I pocketed the orange; after all, I had promised to do everything for her today.

_Chapter 5 - POV: Chase_

_Tap tap tap tap tap. _Pause._ Tap tap tap tap tap. _Pause. _Knock knock!_

Can't a guy get some rest? What's the clock say. 9:00 AM. Too early. More knocking. I dragged myself out of bed, lazily rubbing crud from my eyes, and answered the door.

"Gill? What are you doing here?" I croaked, my throat dry from the night's sleep. "It's much too early,"

"Chase, it's nine in the morning."

"Exactly. Much too early," I argued. "What do you want?"

"Angela was going to give this to you." He pulled something from his pocket: a beautiful, shining orange. "It's, uh... it's an orange."

Gill can identify fruit. How swell. "Well, it isn't a shrunken head, now, is it? But... why?"

"I don't know, something about an apology?"

An apology? What did she have to apologize for? We had met a total of two times. I'd ask, but... "Why isn't she giving it to me herself? Did she talk you into playing messenger-boy for her?"

"No! She's sick."

"So you're playing Orange Fairy for her."

"Well I don't want her running around sick!" Gill's face began to tint. "She'll... get everyone else sick."

"Whatever, Romeo." I started to shut the door, until what he said sunk in. Angela was too sick to get out of bed? "Wait," I said, reopening the door. "Just how sick is she?"

"She thinks she has an ostrich named Spooky that goes 'woooo' all night. I'm supposed to be milking it."

I pinched my lips together, stifling a giggle and passing it off as "thinking." She must be adorable talking nonsense. "Come in, sit down," I invited. "I'll make her some soup." I couldn't do anything else, could I? I'm just a cook.

"You? Sir Standoffish?" Gill laughed. "Making soup for a girl?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, Gill," I said, ushering me through the doorway. How was I going to pass this off as a careless gesture? "This is for you."

"...What?"

"Well, you obviously like her," I started, rummaging through my kitchen for ingredients.

"What gave you that idea?" he asked timidly.

I stopped to glance at Gill. His face was the shade of ultra-rare steak, his eyes fixated on his expensive dress shoes. "For starters, your face is redder than a tomato."

"N... n- no it's not," I whispered.

"Nah, it's more of a hot-pink color," I decided, returning to my cooking. "I figure, if you bring her soup, you'll look like the hero and everything and she'll like you, yadda yadda. That's what you're going for with this whole doing-all-her-chores act, isn't it?"

"I am not doing this just so she'll like me!" he insisted. "It's just what a friend does."

"Okay, okay, Defensive Dan."

"I'm not being defensive!" he defended.

I couldn't resist. I cleared my throat and readied my falsetto voice. "Oh, Gill," I squeaked in the girliest voice I could muster, twirling a stray lock of hair with my finger. "You're so sexy when you stick up for yourself. Take me away!" With this, I raised the back of my hand to my forehead and pretended to swoon. Perfect.

"Shut up!" he interrupted, blushing harder than ever. "Just... make your soup."

"Hey, I'd be nicer if I were you," I pointed out. "I'm making the soup."

"So?"

I tried to think of what I could do to the soup. "What do you think will happen if, say... too much curry powder made its way into the soup?"

"...It'll be substandard soup," he said. "That's not very threatening."

Simple, simple Gill. Didn't understand what too much curry powder could do to a dish. "Right, right... but what if that pair of moldy swim shorts over there got into the soup?" I gestured toward a pair of old swim shorts that were wadded up in my corner.

He looked where I was pointing "Oh my god!" he shouted, disgusted. I cracked a smile. "What are those doing in your house?!"

"I asked Toby to catch me some fish... that's what he came up with."

"Ugh... don't even think about getting those anywhere near Angela's soup!"

"Relax, grumpy," I said, scrawling on the bottom of a plastic container and pouring the soup inside. "The soup's done."

"No swim shorts?"

"It's chicken noodle, not swim-trunk spaghetti."

"Thanks, Chase."

I nodded. "Tell Angela to get better, okay?"

He nodded back. "I will," he said on his way out.


	6. Chapter 6

_Intro - POV: Angela_

I'm useless.

What's a farmer that can't work? Nothing.

My animals were hungry, my plants were withering, and there was nothing I could do about it. I rolled over and faced the wall, diverting my eyes from my beckoning toolbox. I could almost see the dust particles collect, whispering to me as they drifted by me. Do your chores.

Do your chores.

Do your chores.

"Alright!" I shouted, my head pounding from my own noise. I threw the covers off and rose quickly from my bed. Too quickly. I staggered over to the table in the center of the room. What was my watering can doing on the table? I left the house stumbling, watering can in hand. If anyone's doing my chores, it'd better be me.

_Chapter 6a - POV: Gill_

Caramel River had gotten much more pleasant, now that there was a farm. The orderly crops swaying in the breeze, the sound of the lowing cattle...

Lowing cattle?

The cows were inside.

As I approached the farm, I saw that the cows were indeed out grazing.

I didn't call them out.

A few of the crops had been watered, too.

I didn't water them. I left the watering can inside.

A weak cough came from the middle of the field. As I went over to investigate, I discovered Angela sitting in a slump between two rows in the crop field, her watering can knocked over closeby. "Angela!" I attempted to be stern. "What do you think you're doing?!"

She turned her head slowly. "I'm watering my crops."

"No you're not. You're sitting in the middle of the field," I corrected. "I told you to stay in bed today."

"I told you before," she started. She didn't even seem to have the energy to finish a sentence in one breath. "I don't want your charity."

"Is that what this is about?!" I shouted. How could she be such a fool? Endangering herself just because she's too proud to accept help? Sure, I'm all for self-sufficiency... but health is more important. "Angela..." I reached out a hand to help her up. "You're stupid."

She looked up at me, puddles beginning to form in her glassy eyes. Great, I made her cry. What now? "But I l--" _Not that!_

"What?"

"I'll not always be conveniently around to help you out, you know," I covered. "You're lucky I'm here."

"I don't need your help. I can run my own farm." Her voice was breaking.

"Well, you can't when you're sick!" I snapped. "You'll only make yourself sicker! And if you keep working sick, you'll just get sicker and sicker until..."

"Until what?" she asked.

I could hardly bear to continue. The thought made my stomach churn. "Until you're too sick to wake up!"

The world seemed to freeze. There were no cattle, no chickens, no corn or tomato plants. Just Angela, eyes wide and trembling, and me, my foot stuck so far down my throat that my shoes were in danger of being fully digested. "You're that worried... about me?"

"No!" I protested. "I just... forget I said anything!"

"...Okay." She stood up without further protest and meandered toward her house.

"Angela..." I half-called. I didn't really care whether or not she responded. It was enough that she heard me.

"I get it, Gill," she said, her eyes still fixated on the ground in front of her, feet gingerly creeping forward. "I'm helpless. I don't have the judgment to decide when I can and can't work. I'm lost without a great decision-maker like yourself. Isn't that right?"

"No!" Actually, that hit the nail on the head. "I mean... well, it's just that..."

"I'm right, aren't I?" She still wouldn't look at me, still kept inching forward.

"I... um... well... the..." I babbled.

"Got something to say?"

My eyes drifted to the ground. "...No."

"Well if you're more worried about your image than the health of others, I suggest you get the hell off my ranch."

"But--"

"Go away, Gill," she snapped, finally reaching her doorstep and half-heartedly slamming the door.

I stood still as a statue trying to process what had just happened. I'd angered her. How? What did she mean, I was worried about my image? Was I...?

Oh.

I said I wasn't worried about her. What did she care? All she cared about was what her darling Chase thought of her, and not letting anyone ever lend her a hand. Never mind that I came by her house and gave her cold medicine first thing in the morning. That fickle little...! What do I care what she thinks?! I clenched my fists in anger, driving the plastic lock from the soup container into my palm. Ouch. I still had the soup. I chucked it at the door; it made a resounding _crack_ and fell lid-down on the doorstep. "Remarkable locks," I muttered, hearing the faint sound of an opening door over my own angry footsteps.

_Chapter 6b - POV: Angela_

_Ugh._

I knew I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It felt like I'd slept with a anvil on my head and someone had plugged my nose and poked my stomach with a sharpened pencil.

Wouldn't stop me.

I cracked my sleep-crusted eyes open. They felt gritty, like I hadn't opened them in years. As I tried desperately to balance on my feet, it felt as thought the anvil that crushed my head as I slept hadn't fallen off, and my whole body was still under the pressure. Now, where had I left my watering can?

I grabbed my watering can from the tool box and headed outside. As soon as I opened the door, my eyes were assaulted by the nine-o'clock sunlight. I squinted and made my way to the animal bell. Luckily it only took a quick pull and the animals were outside. Time for the crops... one step at a time, now...

After just a few of the crops were watered, I could feel my headache getting worse. I had to take a break. So I sat down just where I was. "Angela!" Aah! "What do you think you're doing?!"

I slowly turned my head a few inches. Through the corner of my eye, I could see it was Gill. "I'm watering my crops."

"No you're not. You're sitting in the middle of the field. I told you to stay in bed today."

He did? He must have, I suppose. Gill may have been a little conceited, but no one could say he was dishonest. How could I let him do that? He knew how I felt about accepting help. "I told you before, I don't want your charity."

His jaw dropped, speechless for a moment. "Is that what this is about?!" Angela... You're stupid." Well, sure, I was a little proud... but... stupid? I felt a tear well up in my eye. Did he really think that of me? "But I l--"

"What?"

"I'll not always be conveniently around to help you out, you know. You're lucky I'm here." he said. He sounded defensive.

"I don't need your help. I can run my own farm."

"Well, you can't when you're sick! You'll only make yourself sicker! And if you keep working sick, you'll just get sicker and sicker until..." He stopped. I looked up at him, and as the tear dropped from my eye, I saw he was wincing.

"Until what?"

"Until you're too sick to wake up!" he blurted.

I blinked, stunned. The world seemed to freeze. Oh... what am I doing? All this time, I thought he felt sorry for me. He was worried? "You're that worried... about me?"

"No! I just... forget I said anything!"

And he thought _I_ had too much pride. "...Okay." I rose to my feet, leaving my watering can on the ground, and directed my trembling steps to my house.

"Angela..." The helpless tone of his voice brought me back to the day I moved in, and he stopped me before I could run out of the square. Was he worried about me then, too?

I wanted to ask. But if his own words were to be believed, he wasn't even worried about me now. "I get it, Gill. I'm helpless. I don't have the judgment to decide when I can and can't work. I'm lost without a great decision-maker like yourself. Isn't that right?"

"No! I mean... well, it's just that..." he struggled.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"I... um... well... the..." he babbled. Oh my god, I really was right.

"Got something to say?" Last chance, bucko.

"...No."

"Well if you're more worried about your image than the health of others, I suggest you get the hell off my ranch."

"But--"

"Go away, Gill," I gave one last dismissal before weakly slamming my door. Apparently, he doesn't care about me. So much for being a friend! What a hypocrite, getting all worked up about my having too much pride and then turning right around and being too proud to admit he's worried!

I couldn't get too angry, though. After all, I suppose he did go out of his way to--

_Thud!_

What the hell? Something hit the door. I opened the door to find an opaque, white, plastic tupperware container with locks on the sides. And lucky they were there; the container made quite a thud. I looked around. Someone must've thrown it. But the only person in sight was Gill, storming down the path to Waffle Town. Did he have a plastic container in his hand when he was off on his self-righteous tangent? I hadn't noticed. I picked up the container and warily plucked the right lock open. From there I could peek inside. A delightful scent of chicken broth wafted through my nose. It looked like chicken noodle soup. Still hot. Mmm! I went inside to grab a spoon. Gill didn't have any reason to slip me something... did he? I shook my head. I'm being paranoid! I took a spoon and dug in.

As I worked my way through the soup, I saw that there was messy, hasty writing on the inside of the container.

_"Get well soon. You have nothing to apologize for. ~Chase"_


	7. Chapter 7

_Intro - POV: Angela_

"Angela!" Hamilton greeted me joyfully. "Just the girl I wanted to see!"

"Would that be why you waited for me to come out of my house?" I remarked. Hamilton always surprised me outside of the house when there was something going on the next day, like a festival. Either that, or he wanted to tell me something.

"Ah! Always the kidder, Angie." Angie? Who told him he could call me Angie? "So glad it was a gal with a good sense of humor that moved in and took this plot!" He patted me on the arm. Hamilton was one of those adults that thought he was twenty or thirty years younger than he actually was. "So anyway, Angela, I came down here to talk about the upcoming Firefly Festival."

"Oh?" I asked.

"The fireflies come out one day a year. It's tradition around here to take a date and watch the fireflies. Angela... do you have someone you'd like to watch the fireflies with?"

I blushed, "Well... sorta..." Wait, what was he doing, asking? It's none of his business! But I didn't want to be rude, so I didn't say anything.

"Well, ask him, don't be shy! Or her, if you're into that sorta thing. I won't judge."

"Oh, no, it's a boy... you know, not that there's anything wrong with that, uh, the whole gay thing, you know, it's... perfectly fine, it's just not my thing."

"Well, the festival is tomorrow, so ask someone today! I'll let you get to your chores."

"Alright, bye." I waved him off and shut the door. The firefly festival, hm? How romantic.

The perfect opportunity to ask out Chase.

------

Ten o'clock. I was done with my chores, I'd finished everything, I'd put on the pretty yellow dress again. And here I stood in front of the bar, yet again. But this time, I just opened the door quietly, like a normal person, and sat down at the bar. "Hi, Chase," I piped up.

"Oh, hey Angela."

"Too busy to chat still?"

"Well, it is a slower night, I suppose I could spare a word."

"Great," I said. I drummed my fingers on the bar. "Uh, so..."

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"I..." My stomach rose into my chest. My heart beat twice as fast. I couldn't do it. Maybe I just needed a little more courage. "I'd like a blueberry cocktail."

_Chapter 7 - POV: Chase_

It was a slower night than usual. Not that it was ever fast; there weren't that many people on the island. I was finishing the last flip of the mayor's omelette when Angela came in and sat down. "Hi, Chase," she said. She sounded a little nervous.

I turned and took a glance at her. "Oh, hey Angela."

"Too busy to chat still?"

I supposed I couldn't be standoffish forever. I'd have to talk sometime. "Well, it's a slower night, I suppose I could spare a word."

"Great," she said. The silence after was awkward, and she started to tap her fingers on the bar. "Uh, so..."

"Yeah?" She wanted to say something, I could tell. Was it about the Firefly Festival? Please, let it be about the Firefly Festival.

"I... I'd like to order a blueberry cocktail."

"You drink?"

"Not very often..." she admitted. "But I'd like to see how the cocktails here are. I hear they're good."

"Well, I'm legally compelled to ask... how old are you?"

"Twenty," she said. She was lying. Gill told me the other day that she was eighteen.

"Well, mayor says the drinking age is nineteen, so... I suppose we can sell you a cocktail." I wasn't about to argue with her. Frankly, I didn't agree with the drinking age. It's not a big island. If someone wants to drink, they should be able to drink. I signaled to Kathy. "Blueberry cocktail over here."

Kathy came bounding over. "For who?" I pointed to Angela. "Is she even nineteen?"

"She says she's twenty."

"She doesn't look twenty..." Kathy tilted her head from side to side. "She hardly looks a day over eighteen."

"Well, what are we going to do, card her?"

"Card her?" Kathy asked.

Working in restaurants in big cities, everyone was carded, especially people like Angela who looked young. But Waffle Island didn't even have ID cards. I sometimes forgot how simple island life was. "Ask for her ID."

"Oh, do people carry identification everywhere in your fancy city life?"

"Yeah, they do."

"Well, we've got to believe her, I guess," she said, filling the mixer with frozen blueberries and margarita mix. I went back to the omelette, now finished, and unloaded it onto a plate. "Here you are, erm, Angela, right?" Kathy said to Angela as she set down the cocktail.

"Take this to the mayor," I told Kathy, giving her the omelette. I took a couple of steps over and leaned back on the shelf opposite the bar. "So... what's up?" I asked Angela.

"Nothing much," she said, elegantly sipping her drink and examining the small, glass wine glass charm shaped like a bluemist flower. "Where did you get this little thing?" she asked.

"The wine glass charm?" I clarified. She nodded. "They were a birthday gift from Mira to Hayden. She made them herself."

"It's beautiful. She must be very talented."

"She is. She makes jewelry at the accessory shop, but since her husband died she hasn't had the motivation. She just hangs around the graveyard all day."

"Oh... how sad..." she said wistfully, taking another drink. The glass was half-empty by now. "Hey, Chase..."

"Yes?"

"Uh, when I was sick the other day, and Gill brought me that soup... did you make that?"

"Yeah."

"It was really good." She smiled, a tiny smile that seemed to light up her sharp, brown eyes. "Thanks. I've got to be honest, you know... I thought I'd annoyed you, you know... you didn't seem to wanna talk to me."

"Well, I was busy... I don't like to talk when I'm busy. Actually I don't really like to talk at all, but..." You idiot, Chase. You hardly know her. Don't let her know she's special. "I don't know, I guess I'm in a good mood tonight."

"Oh... well, that's good." She was blushing and looking into her empty glass. "Hey, uh..."

"Oh, do you want a refill?" I asked.

"Yeah... yeah."

I nodded and took her glass over to the mixer. Three parts frozen blueberry, two parts margarita mix. I brought the glass back to her. "How do you like it?" I asked.

"'S taste. Doesn' taste like pure ethanol like most cocktails." _Like most cocktails?_ How often did she drink? Was this a woman who went on underage benders once a week? What was I getting myself into?

"Well, we don't use syrups, we use actual fruit. So the flavor's a lot stronger. The alcohol's a lot stronger, too, without all the chemicals to displace it, so... you probably shouldn't drink too much, especially since you're so small."

"What, you don' truss my judgmen'?" she said. Her speech was already slurred. Her glass wasn't even empty. I suppose she didn't drink much, or she would have a higher tolerance. I felt oddly relieved, though I couldn't figure out why it mattered to me. She took another swig, finishing the drink off. "I'll stop when I'm done, 'kay? 'S got nothin' to do with you." Wow, it took to her fast. "'N' I'm _not_ done! C'n I 'ave another refill over here?"

"Uh, Angela, I really don't think you should," I told her. "You're getting a little loopy as it is, and you've barely had time to ingest the alcohol."

"Nons'nse! These're _delicious_! Get me another one!"

Against my better judgment, I went to the mixer and loaded it up again. I poured the cold, almost slushy blue mixture into Angela's glass. "I really don't think you should drink much more, Angela. You do have to get home."

"Eh, I feel _fine_," she insisted, taking a swig from the glass.

"If you insist..."

"So, Chase," she started.

"...Yeah?"

"There's this festival. Summin' 'bout bugs, or fire, or sumthin'."

"The Firefly Festival?"

"Yeah... yeah. Firefly Festival. 'N' uh... I kinda like you, y'know?" Was she about to ask me out drunk? "So I ws wonderin'... d'you, uh... d'you wanna go with me?"

"I..." It didn't seem right. I may have the low moral standard to let an eighteen-year-old get drunk off her ass, but I wasn't about to take advantage of her drunken state. Maybe it was the only way she could get up the courage, but it still didn't feel right. As much as I wanted to say yes to her, I couldn't do it. What if she didn't remember tomorrow, and I showed up to take her out and she didn't know what was going on? "I can't."

"What? Oh, d... don' tell me, izz that bell-butt ginger _bitch_ over there, isn' it?"

"Well, no, not at all..." I wouldn't be caught dead watching fireflies with Maya.

"Oh yeah? Well... well maybe iz that Kathy girl, huh? She... she's gotta be the town _wench_ or something."

Who says wench anymore? I glanced out at the restaurant and saw Kathy, mouth agape. "Sorry, Angela, I just can't."

"Oh, well, _fine_!" she shouted, taking another swig from her glass. "I don' need a date, eh? I... I like solitude. 'Nother cocktail!" She banged her glass on the bar.

"Angela, I'm not getting you another drink. Are you even okay to get home?"

"Oh, I'm _fine_! What, d'you want me ta leave? 'Cause... 'cause I'll leave, if that's whatcha want. But 'f'yer not gonna kick me out I wanna refill."

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave," I said. It broke my heart to kick her out, but I couldn't stand by and watch her swig down glass after glass of substances she wasn't even legally supposed to have.

"Well _FINE_!" she yelled. "I'm outta here." She swiveled the barstool around and jumped off, having to regain her balance as she tottered off toward the door.

I have to admit, I was worried about her. As I watched her dizzily stumble toward the door, I thought about what had just happened. Angela always seemed so... demure, so quiet. And she was so shy today, before she started drinking. She became a completely different person. It was frightening. I leaned again on the shelves, crossed my arms, and sighed as I watched her fall through the door. "That was weird," Kathy commented from beside me.

I jumped, startled. "Yeah... scary, even."

"You think she meant that?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure she doesn't think you're a whore. She doesn't even know you."

"No, no, not that!" she said, shaking her head. She did that when I was being naive. Was I being naive? I didn't think I was being naive. She turned her head toward me. "She said she liked you."

I looked away. "Maybe..."

"Chase..." I flicked a glance at her. She was smiling. "You like her, don't you?"

When she wasn't a belligerent monster. "No..." I lied. "I'm just worried, is all."

--

I don't think I've done an author's note on this fic yet.

So... there's your alcohol reference and mild language.

I'm afraid this chapter might have gotten a little Seinfeldian (then again, my writing tends to do that), but I didn't want to say "Angela drank for 20 minutes and then she was totally hammered." It's just not elegant.

Keep up the reviews, guys. :] I need the encouragement and I always want my writing to get better, so if you have any criticism... let me have it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Intro - POV: Angela_

"I'm outta here!" Ooh, this stool is _spinny_! And the door's... all the way over there... arrite, we c'n get there... one step atta time now... it's closed. Whaddoo I do 'ere? C'mon, Angie, baby! You know what'chyer s'posta do with a closed door... Hand up... 'eeerrrre we go, now _POOSH_! Aha! Izz open now! Keeeeep walkin'... okay, now which way's home? Left? Right? For--

_Chapter 8 - POV: Gill_

Geez, ten forty-five. Ten forty-five! I should be in bed by now. But no, had to stay back, clean up around the town hall. Sort the books in the library alphabetically. No, by the Dewey Decimal System! By color! Shape! Author's pet-- first by species, then by age in lunar years, then by name, reverse alphabetically! I let out a small chuckle at my own exaggeration. It's not that I didn't respect my father greatly, but his indecisiveness did get on my nerves, especially when it caused stress to others. _Especially_ me. I trotted down the stairs, muttering to myself.

_Thud_.

My head involuntarily swiveled to my right. From my distance and in the lack of light, all I could make out was the shape of a body lying in front of the bar.

We didn't have any infamous alcoholics in town. Nor did we have any homeless, thank God. I owed it to my conscience and the good of the town to investigate.

I crept over quietly, for fear the drunk would wake up and go ballistic. He didn't seem to. As I drew closer, I saw that the drunk was indeed not a 'he,' but a 'she,' wearing a stylish yellow dress and brown boots. She had fallen forward with her head turned, and her brown hair completely covered her face. Who in town had brown hair and wore yellow? Didn't Renee wear a yellow dress in the summer? "Renee?" I tried. Nothing. Renee wasn't the type to get faceplant-drunk, anyway. She was too clean-cut, too naive. Besides, the dress was too short. I tentatively reached toward her head to brush the hair out of her face.

No, no.

It couldn't be.

"Angela?" I whispered. She didn't respond. "Angela!" Still no answer. She was passed out cold. But I couldn't mistake that face for anyone else's, not even in this light. It was her, no doubt crossed my mind. How could she? She was only eighteen! I thought she'd know better! I shook my head in disbelief. I'd have to take her home. But how? I couldn't even carry her across her own room. I'd need some manner of transport...

And then it hit me.

Sure, it would be a rather crude method of going about it, and it would be difficult to fetch from the backyard, but I didn't have any other options. Though if Angela ever found out about it, she'd probably kill me. I stood up and started toward the house. Oh... but I couldn't just leave her here. I dragged her over a bit, so that she'd be just in sight from my backyard. Perfect.

The back room we used as a shed was in slight disrepair, to put it generously. With each step I took, the groaning of the floorboards got a bit louder. I feared I'd fall through if I stayed in there too long. But there it was, leaning against the left wall in all its yellow plastic glory: my father's wheelbarrow. It was remarkably clean, albeit rather dusty. I grabbed a nearby hand towel (Father liked to keep them everywhere) and wiped down the insides. No need for Angela's dress to get all dusty... oh, this plan is ridiculous. But it wasn't like I had any other ideas. I finished cleaning out the inside of the wheelbarrow and steered it out of the yard to where Angela lay.

Now comes the task of getting her in. I let go of the wheelbarrow, letting it rest on the wheel and the handles, and I attempted to scoop Angela up off the ground sideways, honeymoon-style. The first time, I lifted her about six inches. _Come on, Gill, put your back into it!_ I encouraged myself in my head. I finally lifted her up high enough and long enough to get her into the wheelbarrow. _Swell. Now I've got an underage drunk in a wheelbarrow,_ I thought to myself as I rolled Angela toward her farm. _How do you keep getting yourself into these situations, Gill? Well, it's Angela, of course. She goes and she gets herself in trouble all the time. She's lucky to have me. If not she'd be... who knows?_ I shuddered at the thought.

Finally, we were at Angela's farm. Everything was wrapped up, as if she'd planned not to come home. How strange. Was it her master plan to pass out drunk in front of the bar? Did I ruin something for her? Hmph. Any plan that involves passing out drunk in front of a bar was worth thwarting. Now, the door. I set the wheelbarrow down gently and opened the door, then scooped Angela out. _Come on, now, Gill... just a little bit further... Perfect!_ I dropped her in the bed; she fell with a _clunk_. The covers were already gathered at the bottom of the bed; she hadn't made it. I shook off the minor disappointment and tucked her in. _Nice_, I thought, admiring my handiwork.

After leaning the wheelbarrow on the outside of the house (can't leave the job undone, now, can we?), I came back in to check on her. Still passed out cold. And somehow, when I looked at her, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, her hair whirled in a mess around her face... I couldn't be angry at her.

I looked at her clock. Eleven-thirty. No wonder I was so tired. I sat down, leaning against the foot of Angela's bed. She wouldn't mind if I sat down for a bit, would she? Of course she wouldn't; she couldn't tell. I felt my eyelids droop. _No, Gill... stay awake..._

_Stay awake..._

_--_

It's the anti-Chapter 7. Short, no dialogue at all. (With "di" being the prefix for "two," anyway.)

Be proud if you got through it; it's kind of pure stuff, nothing else.

The next chapter will be ripe with dialogue, I promise. :]


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9a - POV: Angela_

Sunbeams streaked through the curtains and pierced my eyelids.

Dear _GOD_, I had a headache.

I hadn't the desire nor the energy to open my eyelids. All I wanted to do was to bury my head in the covers and go right back to sleep. But those chores weren't going to do themselves. I turned my head and opened my eyes, making sure the streaks of sunlight didn't hit them. I have to keep these open for the rest of the day? Ugh.

I slowly stuck my foot out from under my covers and gently shifted my weight to the floor. Easy now... I pushed myself up. Oh, gravity is _not_ favoring me right now. Gotta get to the toolbox... let's walk.

In my sleepy, achy haze, I noticed a figure slumped at the edge of my bed. I rubbed my eyes. "...Gill?!"

"Ahh! Wh- bu- I-- Angela..." he babbled. His eyes widened and his cheeks turned his own signature shade of scarlet. "Uh... hi."

"Well, hello to you, too!" I yelled. And oh, how the sound pounded at my head. But it was the only way to convey my anger. "What the _hell_ are you doing in my house?!"

He stopped to think for a minute. "I can explain, I swear," he said.

"Oh, yeah, I'd like to hear this one!"

"Well, I was leaving Town Hall last night..."

"Uh-huh."

"And you were passed out drunk in front of the bar..." I was? Come to think of it, I could hardly remember last night. If I had passed out because I was so drunk, it would certainly explain the headache. I let him continue. "So I carried you home. And it was eleven-thirty, which is well past my bedtime, so I kinda... passed out on your floor."

"How'd you get me over here? Did you drag me by my wrist or something?" He looked away and mumbled. "Hey-- HEY! Look at me when you speak, now, especially when you're in trouble."

"Wheelbarrow," he said quietly.

"WHAT?!" I yelled. "So, wait, let me get this straight. You saw me passed out drunk, and you took me home in a wheelbarrow."

"Y-yeah, I-I guess that's it," he stuttered.

"_Why?_"

"Well, you were right in front of the bar... I mean, you could literally get in everyone's way..."

Well, that's it. Apparently, he wasn't worried about me at all. Why should I care anyway? I'm more independent than that. I don't need him mucking about in my life. "Okay, fine. Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave, I've got chores to do."

He cast his eyes down and aimlessly kicked his foot. "I guess that's fair," he said, and meandered toward the door.

I headed to the toolbox as he shut the door behind him. I wasn't lying, I had a big day ahead of me, even though I still didn't have a date to the Firefly Festival. I froze. I was drunk at the bar last night, apparently. Had I asked Chase? A vague memory of him rejecting me passed through my mind. Well, there goes that idea.

I could very well go without a date. Fine by me. Chase was too cold, anyway. All distant and aloof like that... pff, what did I need with him?! If I was going to have a date, it would be with someone who actually _cared_ if I fell down drunk in front of a bar, or was too sick to form complete sentences... but did Chase? No!

But...

I dropped my watering can; it made a loud _clang_ on the floor, and water spilled out everywhere. For a second, I thought about cleaning it up, but I decided I had better things to do. I ran to the door and threw it open. Gill was sitting on the fence surrounding my pasture, looking out at my crops. "Gill!" I shouted. He turned his head and opened his mouth to say something, but I wouldn't let him. "Come to the Firefly Festival with me!"

_Chapter 9b - POV: Gill_

"I guess that's fair..." I said, kicking my foot back and forth and turning toward the door.

And I suppose it was. Why couldn't I just say it? _Angela, I was worried about you. _Simple. Easy. It should be... I wandered down the path and climbed up on Angela's fence. She liked to spend good time making sure she had everything for the day; she wouldn't be out for a while. _I worry about you all the time, Angela. I've just been too proud to admit it_. I ran over it again and again in my head, pictured myself saying it to her... I still knew it would never come out of my mouth.

Angela's front door flew open. _Don't look, don't look, wait until she gets your attention._ "Gill!" she shouted. _Well now you can look. _I opened my mouth. Just like we rehearsed in my head now... "Come to the Firefly Festival with me!" Angela interrupted me before I could even start speaking.

Did she really just ask me out? "Hello, Gill?" she prodded. "A nod would be fine."

But what was I going to say...? Did I want to watch fireflies with Angela? Of course I did. Angela was all I thought about, this moment all I dreamed of. But she wasn't asking for herself... she was asking for my sake. I smiled. "You know, Angela, you're pretty charitable for a girl who hates charity."

"...What?"

"You don't really want to go with me, do you?"

"I--"

"But you know I want to go with you, so you asked me."

"Uhh..."

"But, Angela... I don't want your charity, either." I hopped off the fence and started walking toward town. Perfect. Nice and dramatic.

"Oh, it's not for you, genius!" she shouted. I stopped. She caught up to me. "_I_ want to go with _you_. You're awfully self-centered for a guy who's always thinking about the town."

"I..." _I'm not always thinking about the town. I'm thinking about you._ It just wouldn't come out. The moment was all wrong, anyway. "I'll see you there, then."

"Caramel Falls, seven o'clock!" she promised. I nodded.

I seemed to walk on air back to my house. Someone may or may not have tried to talk to me; I'm not sure. Up the stairs, and collapse on my bed.

It was going to be a good night.


	10. Chapter 10

_Intro - POV: Angela_

As I flipped through my wardrobe, I ran the thought over and over in my head. _I have a date with Gill_. It didn't feel like thinking about a date with Chase. No matter where I put the emphasis, it was just a little bit off. Gill and I were friends, right? Maybe this date was a mistake. Surely, this date was a mistake.

I pulled out my yellow dress. It was dirty and slightly torn, probably from falling and lying about on the sidewalk. Besides, Gill would associate that dress with me passed out drunk on the pavement. The only other dress I owned was the one I wore every day, faded and torn in a few places from two seasons' work. It would have to do.

I peeked at my watch. 6:45. I hardly had time to be mincing dress connotations! It would take the rest of my time just to get out to the falls. I quickly patted the wrinkles out of my dress and ran out the door.

_Chapter 10a - POV: Angela_

As I approached the falls, I could make out Gill's figure sitting on the rocks that lined the river. "Gill!" I shouted. He turned his head, the shadow of his cowlick-bangs morphing shape. "Sorry I'm late!"

"It's alright," he said, standing to greet me. "Wow, Angela..."

"Hm?"

"You look... beautiful."

"But this is how I look every day," I said.

He blushed and looked away, a tiny half-smile creeping up on his face. "I know." What was with him tonight? He never acted like this. Where was my pompous, self-righteous best friend? "Come sit?" he offered, gesturing toward a pale green knit blanket he had laid out on a flat rock.

"Sure," I said, lowering myself to sit on the blanket. The plush, cool yarn soothed my scraped-up knees. I ran my hand across the soft surface. "Oooh, this blanket is amazing," I complimented. "Where did you get it?"

"My mother made it when I was seven years old." He sat down next to me... quite closely, it seemed. I thought about inching over, but I realized, I didn't want to. As Gill and I sat so close, I felt warm inside. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was right. "She was always knitting." I looked at him as he spoke; he chuckled and started again. "Our family never bought a single article of clothing. Even if we needed something that wasn't knit, she'd sew it for us. That was the kind of person she was: always looking out for the family. She was never too up-front about it... but when I think about it, she must have never thought about herself." A tear rolled down his face.

"Oh, Gill..." I put my hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head so that he was leaning on my hand. Again, I thought about shooing him, but I didn't want to. I felt fine where I was, and with where he was...

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you..." Gill piped up.

"What's that?"

"Why do you hate charity so much?"

I should've seen this coming. I sighed. "I was an orphan growing up. All too often I'd sneak out of the filthy old place; walk about town, play in the park with the other kids until they had to go home with their parents... their mothers would ask me if I'd like to stay over at their houses for a while, or for the night, have dinner with them and all that. Never the kids, always their mothers. At first I thought that was just how it went, like kids didn't have the authority to ask their friends over to their houses. Then I slowly realized they weren't doing it because I was friends with their son or daughter... they did it because they felt sorry for me. It never stopped, either; as I got older, everyone seemed to know me. Angela, the orphan girl. The charming young lady in the beaten-up dress. Old ladies offered me snacks, some businessmen offered me change... and everyone spoke to me in that high-pitched little voice... 'Oh, you poor thing, come inside and have a sandwich.'" It was my turn to cry now. "I hated it. No one in that town saw me as a person; they saw me as a charity case, a person they could help just to feel good about themselves. Me, I just wanted to do everything on my own. And no one would let me... that's why I moved out here." I stared into the falls for a while, almost letting my head droop onto Gill's. The sun had just set; there was no sign of fireflies yet.

"Promise you won't get mad at me?" Gill said, lifting his head from my hand, which I hadn't removed from his shoulder.

"...For what?"

He reached into his pocket and took out several paper bills, neatly stacked and not even creased. "I can't take this from you," he said. I stared at the stack. "It's your Spring rent." He held it out to me. "Take it."

"No," I insisted, pushing the stack back toward him. "I live on your family's land, I pay rent. That was our agreement."

"Look, Angela, I can't take your money. I never wanted to in the first place."

"Then why did you agree to take it?"

Gill sat silently for a moment. "What would you have done if I hadn't?"

I thought back to the day I moved in. If he hadn't let me pay... "I'd probably stow away on the next boat out," I said. "If I had to, I'd sleep on a park bench and work part-time jobs until I could buy a ticket."

"You would have left," he clarified.

"I guess."

He cast his unfamiliar, wistful gaze onto the falls. "That's why I did it."

I blinked a couple of times, deep in my thoughts. "My best friend, Gill," I started, "is self-righteous and proud. He doesn't dare admit he's wrong, nor will he ever show any normal emotion. He hardly ever even smiles. But for some reason, he's always looking out for me. So I asked him on a date tonight. Imagine my surprise when I find myself on a date with you."

Gill processed that for a moment, then smiled. "I'm sorry," he said. "I could never get the right words out. I'd always think about saying something, and I... I don't know, I guess I was just too proud, or shy, or something, so I just covered it all up." His face turned bright pink. "In my mind I'd always say I was never worried about the town; I was only worried about you. And that I worry about you all the time, or that I'm thinking about you all the time. Even that if you left, I'd probably just stop caring about anything... look at me, talking on and on. The point is, I was always just afraid. And, well... I guess now, I'm not."

"Is all of that true?"

"Hey, I may be self-righteous and proud," he challenged, "but at least I'm honest. So will you take it?" he prodded, waving the stack of bills at me.

"No," I insisted. "Your family's land, your money."

"Those are the rules?"

"Those are the rules."

"If you feel so strongly..." I saw a little smile creep up on the side of his face as he shoved the money back into his pocket. As much as I wanted it to be, this argument wasn't over.

Despite the discomfort of being offered free rent, I'd never felt so right in my life. I laid my head on Gill's shoulder, feeling like I could stay there forever. I felt his hand stroke the back of my head and closed my eyes. At that moment, life couldn't get better.

"Angela, look!" Gill gasped. I opened my eyes to swarms of tiny lights surrounded us, flying fluidly through each other and leaving little purple streaks in my vision.

"It's beautiful..." I whispered. Watching all the fireflies seemed to make all the anxiety and fears I'd ever had melt away. Each little bug that landed on my arm or tickled my nose took a bad thought with it. I let my consciousness slip, unaware of anything but the patterns of the fireflies around me. My remaining senses told me that a voice was speaking. I nodded and made a small noise of agreement to be polite.

The hand on my shoulder flinched. "Really?" Gill's voice sounded.

"I don't know, I have no idea what you just said."

"I, uh... it's nothing. Nothing important, anyway."

I picked up my head. "Seemed pretty important a few seconds ago."

"No, I swear," he insisted. "It was nothing." There was a note of stress in his voice, just like all the times he told me he wasn't worried about me. I let it go, anyway. As different as he seemed to be now, he was still Gill. And he'd still be too stubborn to tell me.

"Well, all right then..." I submissively muttered, laying my head back on his shoulder.

Gill started fiddling with the red tie around his collar. "So, Angela..."

"Mmm?"

"Well... I kinda like you..."

"Mmhm."

"And, uh... I was... heh, just wondering..."

"Hmm?"

"Ifyouwouldconsidergoingsteadywithme," he recited as though he'd practiced the phrase.

My heart flipped over. I should've seen it coming from the moment I sat down on the blanket, but it still caught me off guard. Going steady? Who used that phrase anymore? And with Gill? But... this was all supposed to happen with Chase. That's how it should've gone. I pictured the situation with Chase replacing Gill. And I felt nothing. In that situation, I found I wouldn't even want to say yes. But with the way I'm feeling now... this has to be right. "Under one condition," I said, lifting my head and looking at Gill with a shy smile.

"What?"

"Kiss me first."

----

AUGH. AAAH. OH GOD. Excuse me while I go bleach my brain.

Trust me; you should be _very very glad_ that I didn't submit anything that came after the end of the chapter. I tried writing it about five times, but every time it sucked like a horseshoe, so I decided to just end it. I think it comes out artsy.

It's also very long, or at least it looks long now.

I was going to do it from Gill's point of view, but that would defeat the purpose of this fic entirely.


	11. Chapter 11 and Epilogue

**Chapter 11:**

_Intro - POV: Gill_

Easy, now. Steady.

"Gill!" my father called from downstairs. "It's 5:00! You're going to be late for your little date!"

"Father, it's not a 'little date'! It's a life-changing event!" I yelled.

"That's what you say about every date," he retorted. He was right; I did say that about every date with Angela. And they felt that way. But this time, it was really going to be life-changing. I reached my trembling hand toward the 6000G on my desk and put it in my pocket. "It can be yours, if you want it to be," I rehearsed. "It can be yours, if you want it to be."

_Chapter 11 - POV: Angela_

Winter 24, today was the day. Snow blanketed the hill and made Alan's tree look like a marshmallow on a stick, but none fell from the clear night sky. My new green sweater was finally starting to warm from my body heat as I trudged up the hill, through the thick snow. As always, Gill sat waiting for me on the same pale green knit blanket. He stood when he saw me coming. As I reached the blanket, he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, as always. "Evening, Angela. You're more beautiful than ever."

More than ever? He usually said "as always." "Oh, did you notice my new sweater?"

"Oh... no, I didn't notice. Your face was too distracting." he said, smiling, blushing, and looking away. He hadn't acted like this since the Firefly Festival.

I sat down on the blanket and patted the spot next to me. "Sit," I invited. He hugged me from behind. "No, sit next to me, silly. I want to be able to see you."

"Ah, fine," he mock-whined, taking his place next to me. "Your hair smells lovely, by the way."

"Aw, thanks," I said as he assumed his usual position with his arm around me. I looked up at the night sky. "Look at that, Gill," I whispered. "Just makes you feel so small..."

"Yeah..." I heard the rustling of his hand in his pants pocket. "Um, Angela..."

"Yeah?"

"Remember at the Firefly Festival, when I tried to offer you your rent back?"

"Clearly," I said.

"Well... consider this my last attempt." He extended toward me a stack of money, three times larger than before.

"No, Gill," I said, still gazing at the sky. "I can't take money from my boyfriend; that's the worst kind of mooching. Besides, remember the rules? Your family's land, your family's money."

His pocket rustled again, and the corner of my eye caught a flash of blue.

"It can be yours... if you want it to be."

_**Epilogue - POV: Chase**_

"Chase!" Angela squealed as she ran up the stairs to the town square. "Oh, I missed you! We need to talk more!" She threw her arms around me. Ah, how wonderful such an embrace felt. "Maya, you too!" She pulled herself off of me and latched onto Maya. "And Dakota, you get bigger every time I see you!"

"I'm a hundred and thirty-five centimeters now!" my daughter proudly announced.

"Wow!" Angela's daughter, Olivia, gasped. "I'm only one-thirty-three!"

Gill chuckled. "It's good to see you all again."

Dakota poked Olivia in the shoulder. "Tag! You're it!" she shouted, and ran off.

"Oh, come back here!" Olivia shouted back, chasing Dakota about the square.

"You're gonna have to catch me!" Dakota yelled from the other side.

Maya sighed and hung onto my arm. "They grow up so fast..." she said wistfully.

"Yeah..." I responded. "Olivia looks just like you, Angela," I told her. "Be-- she's your spitting image." I would've said she was beautiful, but Maya would've been jealous.

Angela smiled. "Yeah, but she acts just like Gill. Isn't that right, Gilly?" she said, tousling her husband's hair. I hid my jealous scowl.

"Yes, she does," Gill said. "We're lucky she's so well-behaved.""And we're lucky Dakota can cook like Chase~" Maya chirped, drawing me in closer as if she were competing with Angela and Gill in a cuteness contest in which I refused to participate. "Come on, let's go sit!" We all sat on one of the benches in the square, Maya and Angela on either side of me, and Gill on the other side of Angela.

I listened intently to Gill and Angela, pretending to watch Dakota's and Olivia's game of tag. Dakota had solidified my future; I was going to be with Maya forever, whether I liked it or not. And Dakota was my life, she really was... but sometimes I wondered how she'd look with brown hair. Just to see how it would be, had things turned out the way should have.

"Gill?" Angela said quietly.

"Yes?"

"Remember our first date, when I zoned out while you were saying something?"

Gill chuckled. "You ask that all the time; I've told you what I said."

"Say it again."

"I love you, Angela."

I could hear Angela's smile as she said, "I love you, too."

-----

I took on a writing challenge with this fic. Can you guess what it was?


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